


hold me up

by ndnickerson



Series: hold me up [1]
Category: Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene
Genre: Angst, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, Sex, Sexual Content, Snowed In, Travel, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-30
Updated: 2011-12-30
Packaged: 2017-10-28 11:40:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/307498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ndnickerson/pseuds/ndnickerson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nancy and Ned are stranded in a snowstorm and need to find a way to keep warm; A story based on a song.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hold me up

**Author's Note:**

> There are some pregnancy issues in this fic, so if that's a trigger for you, please read with caution.  
> Story is based on "Hold Me Up" by Live, which you can listen to (and read the lyrics for) here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Tk4o1i4oNjc

The sea is at their right and Nancy has no idea if they're going the right way, no idea at all, only the hope that there will be a settlement near the sea, a road, a telephone. At least they have a fighting chance. They're both bundled into bulky parkas, in their heavy tread boots. And there had to be roads to get them to where they were when they woke, shivering and disoriented.

She hopes. She hopes there are roads. If they were transported by boat, they could be anywhere.

She and Ned aren't talking; they don't need to, not anymore. From the moment that she regained consciousness, his palm cold against her cheek, all that has thrummed between them is worry. They need food, clean water, a way to get back. Apparently Campbell didn't want to deal with the disposal of their bodies—but then, nightfall will probably take care of it for him.

Nancy sighs, pulling her arms tighter against her body, but there is no more warmth to be found. She wants anything, pine straw, newspapers, _something,_ to bundle under, to curl up in a ball against. To their left are snowcapped mountains, and the sea wears at the bottom of the steep cliff, churning with more white. All around them is blue-white, the snow, the sky. Her skin.

Alaska. It would be gorgeous, on a boat, a plane, even the relative comfort of an SUV. Walking in it, her stomach tight with worry, she can barely look at it. She just wants to get back.

Ned moves a little closer to her. "Think we're too late?"

Her irritation flares, at herself, for not seeing that Campbell was going to do this. "If he only wants us out of the way for the signing, yeah. But I know Patterson is signing the contract under false pretenses, and all we have to do is get back there and get him the evidence—"

Ned nods. His stomach rumbles, a low extended gurgle, and hers seems to answer it in kind. Then he shields his eyes, and Nancy can't help the sudden hopeful lift of her heart.

"There's a building over there."

Their strides lengthen simultaneously, and she can see their breath lingering in the air before it's snatched away. Shelter. She can feel that the sun will be down soon, and she just needs to close her eyes, to find just the smallest morsel of food, to have a roof over her head.

They break into a run at the same time, pushing past their exhaustion, toward that shape on the horizon. It's weatherbeaten. She doesn't spot any telltale electric lines headed to it. She reaches for Ned's arm, her stomach jumping a little at the contact, and he glances at her, slowing.

The glass is dark, but she can tell it's stained.

Inside, the sanctuary is bare and eerily quiet. She can see the darker patches where rugs marked the path to the altar, the places where the pews used to sit. Two steps up to an empty platform at the front.

She doesn't look at Ned but she can feel, for the barest instant, his gaze lingering on her.

The wind screams along the creaking walls as they head to the back. She expects nothing, and that's what she finds. No evidence, even, of any wildlife using the place for a nest. A broken child's sized chair, barely worth splintering for firewood, stands in a small back room.

Nancy takes a long slow breath and closes her eyes in disappointment.

She finds Ned on the back porch, out facing the sea. The endless hush of the waves fills their silence, until she takes his hand. After a moment he follows her down the steps and they head off again.

A church.

She's glad she didn't even have to meet his gaze with the lie of a smile.

\--

They see it at the same moment, when the sky is a bruised purple with the sunset. She sees the irregular slant of the roof, Ned the reflection of the water in a pane of glass.

It's not more than a shack, really, a dwelling meant for a few men who have traveled out into the wilderness for fishing or hunting. They approach cautiously, calling out a greeting, but the shack stays still and dark. No electricity lines.

She doesn't have her lockpick kit, but it turns out that doesn't matter. The cheap lock on the door was busted before they ever got there. Nancy glances at Ned just before she puts her hand on the knob, but he motions for her to wait, and goes in first.

She has to blink a few times to get her eyes to adjust. A few empty beer cans are crushed on the floor, and Ned kicks them out of the way as he walks inside. The entire space is barely as large as the kitchen at her father's house. She sees a radio in the corner, but it has no way to transmit. It feels like a prefab steel building, and the walls shudder with every gust of wind.

"If someone was close enough to break in, there have to be people around here."

Ned nods absently, and Nancy sighs silently. There have to be people, but there's no telling which direction they're in.

While the last gleam of daylight is still lingering, they find matches and a pair of fat candles, and light them. The supplies were all in milk crates; now she finds a sleeve of crackers mistakenly left behind, and rips them open, handing Ned a handful before she digs in herself. She lets out a rapturous moan as soon as she takes the first bite. Despite her worry that this is all they will find, she and Ned have finished off half the sleeve before they can bring themselves to stop.

"I'm going to get some snow to melt so we'll have something to drink."

Ned nods at the oversized plastic containers stacked near the back. "Maybe whoever ripped off this place didn't get that far. Let me see what's in there."

It's the most they've said to each other in hours. Their voices are half-rusty with disuse.

She takes a bowl outside and walks to one of the taller drifts, trying to find some snow that has gone relatively untouched by wildlife. She packs the bowl and then turns back, and the sea pounds and pounds relentless into the cliffs, and for the first time since she boarded the plane in Chicago, she actually has time to think, instead of working on her smile until it feels genuine.

She doesn't want to think. She wants to get back to their hotel room in Anchorage, the bed like a soft warm cloud, snow-white pillows, thick heavy quilts. Other voices. Phones. _Civilization._

In other circumstances—any other time, she would be happy to be stranded with Ned like this, if she had no case on her back, no rush to warn someone about impending doom—and maybe even then. Any other time. Just not now.

Just not with _this_ hanging between them.

Nancy takes a deep breath and walks back inside, and Ned's grinning. " _Voila, mademoiselle._ "

He's found two tins of fuel for the camp stove in the corner, and one small can of fuel for the small space heater. "How'd they overlook that?" she asks, placing the bowl in one of the milk crates.

"In the back, near the firewood. Yeah, I know. No fireplace. I saw a basic firepit on the beach side."

"Lot of good it does us in here." She glances around again. "Any more food?"

"I was just so excited to find the fuel," he admits, and together they dig into the containers again.

They find three sleeping bags, two thick orange vests and one fishing vest with many pockets, various fishing lures and boxes of ammunition, four or five old candy bars. Ned peers at the dates in the candlelight, and the chocolate is grey with age, but he takes a bite anyway, and she smirks, shaking her head.

"If we had poles here, we could fish."

"If we could find a two-way radio, we wouldn't have _time_ to fish," she points out, blowing her hair out of her face. The room is still brutally cold, but at least they're out of the raw wind. She can still feel its sting on her face. "At least we have shelter, though."

Ned chuckles and pulls out a pack of waterproof playing cards. "And something to keep us entertained for a few minutes."

The other container holds a few bags of something that resembles jerky and a few sealed cans of nuts. Nancy munches on a handful of peanuts as she stacks a few cans of off-brand soup on the floor. "Spoons?"

"Real men don't need spoons," Ned tells her, and she throws a look at him over her shoulder as she takes soup and fuel over to the camp stove.

An hour later, the wood around them is pitch black, and the only light is the light of the pillar candles and the soft dimming glow of the weak space heater. They're both still bundled in their coats as they bend over the cards, peering against the glare to read them.

Ned idly takes a peanut from the container. "This is nice," he says.

She straightens her back, staring at him, and tilts her head. "What?"

"This," Ned repeats serenely, gesturing between the two of them. He rearranges two of his cards and keeps his gaze on his hand instead of her face. "I just had the feeling that you didn't really want to talk after we got up here."

"I..." she starts to say, then lets herself trail off. He's right. She didn't.

The standing invitation had come from one of his fraternity brothers. Kevin Worthington had landed a great job with a major hotel chain soon after graduation, and after what had happened, neither of them had been in the mood for Hawaii, for sun and surf and fruity cocktails by the water. She had been to Alaska before, but she could count the number of _hours_ she had spent in Alaska while not on a case, on the fingers of one hand. She and Ned could take the time to reconnect, by a roaring fire, in a hotel room Kevin had comped, or go out together on the lake, but most of all they would have the time to talk.

Kevin's first words when he had greeted Nancy and Ned at the airport had been "My boss is making a huge mistake," and, well, it had just snowballed from there, into a full-scale investigation of Shelton Campbell and his proposed merger with Dennis Patterson. She and Ned had often tumbled into bed without speaking after a long day of surveillance and some light breaking and entering, exhausted. The few times they had grabbed quick meals together, Nancy had headed off any conversation on his part with discussion about the case.

But now, after spending hours slogging through the snow, they had talked about every conceivable aspect, and then there had been the church—

She lays down a card and Ned wipes his salted fingers on his jeans, then takes a sip from the bowl of melted snow. "I still want to marry you, Nan," he says, very very quietly.

It's amazing, how fast the lump rises in her throat, how fast the anger rises with it. "Ned—"

He shakes his head. "Just..."

"No," she says, shaking her own head. She slams her cards down. "You don't."

"Nancy—"

_God._ She's so angry that she can't even form words anymore, so angry and afraid. "Y-y-you can't," she forces out, and the candlelight is swimming. Her eyes are swimming with tears. "Y-y-you didn't ask me u-until you _knew_ , and it's—it's done, Ned. It's fucking done." She can feel that her face is flushed and she doesn't even try to bother swiping at her tears with the cuffs of her shirt.

Ned tosses his cards down and comes over to her, and she goes stiff as he draws her into his arms, fighting him for a moment. "You can't say it's not true," she says, almost shouting with anger, her voice shaking.

"No," he says quietly, so quiet she can barely hear him over her panted breath. "I'm not saying it's not true, Nan, but I asked you to marry me _years_ ago."

"For a _case_ ," she retorts, rubbing at her eyes again. She doesn't want to melt into his arms. Just being this close to him makes her feel almost sick with guilt and anger.

"What do you think I would have done if you'd said yes," he repeats, and she sighs and turns to meet his eyes, her throat stinging with even more tears. He brushes a thumb over her cheek and she lets out a shuddering sigh. "I—I thought... shit, Nan, I don't know what I thought."

"You thought I was trapped," she says, and her voice is jumping with tension. "That I'd _have_ to say yes."

She shifts off his lap and his hand is still on her thigh. "I thought it was the right thing to do."

"But, see, _now_ it isn't," she says. "Since I—"

_Lost the baby,_ she doesn't say, but she doesn't have to.

And that hush, that perpetual hush of the sea outside, opens up in her and she starts to sob the way she had hoped was behind her, the way she had sobbed in the hospital after she had lost their child.

It hadn't been early on, either. As soon as Nancy had missed that first period, she had gone to the doctor and, shell-shocked, told Ned five minutes after she heard the news, her hands shaking. In that same numb frame of mind she had accepted his proposal; over that weekend, when he had done it formally, asked her father and gotten down on one knee and presented her with the ring, she had nodded again. Regret didn't mean anything. She and Ned had been so careful, but they just hadn't quite been careful enough. She couldn't undo what had happened, and she had long known that Ned loved her, that she loved him, that he wanted this relationship with her. She hadn't let herself think of the alternatives, only that Ned would make a great father, a great husband. And he would.

Their small, quickly-planned wedding had been set for her father's church, family only, a small reception to follow at her father's house. Her dress was simple, and she has a dim memory of seeing it covered in slices of colored light, dim through the church's stained glass. The invitations had been postcards.

Forty-eight hours before she was supposed to walk down the aisle to Ned, the first sharp pain had lanced through her belly.

The doctors couldn't say what had happened. They just murmured quiet, clinical platitudes and told her that she was fine, that there would be another baby when she was ready.

Their date had passed and they had given her the ring back, after the surgery, and she had just gazed at it, wondering if it had been a sign. She hadn't been able to put it back on again, knowing that the reason he had given it to her was gone now.

He brushes her hair back, and blindly she buries her head against his chest, trying to get herself back under control. In those terrible days afterward everyone had touched her like she was made of antique glass, and even when they had been sharing a bed in Anchorage, he had been gentle, timid. Like he's afraid that if he gets too hard a grip on her, she'll dissolve.

"Shh. Shh. Let it out," he whispers, rubbing his palm up and down her back, and while her sobs taper off, she feels the space heater's glow become fainter and fainter. The tears still on her cheeks aren't helping, and her nose is running. Ned finds a crumpled fast-food napkin in his pocket and hands it to her.

"I was looking forward to it, y'know," he says softly, and she looks at him wordlessly. "Being a dad."

"Ned," she sighs.

"I still want that with you," he says, and touches her temples, drawing the tips of his fingers down her face. "If you want it. I want to have children with you. I want to be there when you come home at night so you can tell me about your day." He brushes his fingertips over her slightly parted lips.

"And what if," she says, and swallows, "what if they were wrong and—and I can't—"

"Then you can't," he says calmly. "And if you feel that way too, then we'll do this. We'll get married." He smiles, and though his fingers are cold, they send a shiver down her spine when they brush her neck. "We practically already act like we are."

She shakes her head. "Ned, you don't have to do this," she says softly. "I know—I'm not like other girls. I can't seem to stay away from cases, no matter how hard I try. I just don't... want you to feel like you're tied to me. I'll u-understand if you... if you can't be with me."

He takes her by the shoulders and shakes her, gently. "I'm _here_ ," he says. "And, Nan, I am _so_ sorry that you had to go through that, and if I could have taken that away from you I would have... but... it doesn't change the way I feel about you, the way I've always felt about you."

She gives him a watery smile. "Okay."

"I know—for some reason it's like you're terrified to depend on other people for anything, but this, Nan? This is _us._ And I lost something too." His lips tremble a little. "Don't shut me out, okay? I can give you space, if that's what you need, but God, I _want_ to be here for you."

"You... you have to be mad at me," she whispers, looking down.

He tilts her chin up. "Why, because you are?"

She nods a little, another pair of tears slipping down her cheeks. "I feel broken," she whispers.

"You aren't broken."

The crying has given her a headache, and Ned sweeps up the cards, brings the candles over to the head of their makeshift bed. The sleeping bags smell a little musty but otherwise clean.

"Do... do you feel tied to me?"

She's not used to hearing that kind of vulnerability in his voice. "I don't know," she admits, unzipping the sleeping bag. "I ask for so much from you, Ned, all the time, and I feel so guilty—"

"And this didn't help."

"Yeah." She brushes her hair back. "I felt like if we were supposed to be engaged, we would have been, without..."

He shrugs. "You want to know how many times I've wanted to ask you?"

She smiles, slowly. "Yeah."

"I can't count them all," he says, unzipping his bag, and when he zips them together she doesn't object. "Because, have I ever told you how gorgeous you are in candlelight?"

"Maybe."

"Because you are. Amazingly beautiful. And your eyes are a different color every time I look at them, tonight." He toes his shoes off. "Stand up, sweetheart."

She stands, toeing her own shoes off, and sees him on his knees in front of her, reaching for her hand.

"I don't have the ring," he says, "and you can say you want to wait, you can say that you're not sure, but Nan... I do. I do want to marry you. And I don't care if we do it next week or in a year, at the courthouse or—"

She takes her hand out of his, and he stops, gazing up at her as she reaches behind her neck. She takes off the slender gold chain she has been wearing for the past weeks, ever since, and the diamond ring sways gently, before she drops it into his upturned palm.

"Yes," she says softly, and then lets out a long sigh. "Yes. And we'll do it right. Rented tuxes and Bess and George in bridesmaid dresses and a huge lavish reception in downtown Chicago."

Ned slides the ring onto her finger again, then grasps her hand and pulls her down to her knees.

They haven't kissed in what feels like forever. When she was in the hospital, after, his kisses had been the barest brush of his lips over her cheek.

Now his mouth slants down over hers and her eyes flutter shut, her arms coming up to slide around his neck. She touches the ring with her finger and another set of tears slides down her cheeks.

Ned pulls back when he feels them on his skin. "Hey," he murmurs, wiping them away with the backs of his fingers.

"Hey," she says softly. "I love you, okay?"

He nods and kisses the corner of her mouth. "Love you too," he whispers into her skin.

"And it is fucking _freezing_ in here," she whispers fiercely. "So let's get in the sleeping bag."

The residual heat from the small heater is fading as they climb in, leaving most of their clothes on. The bag itself is freezing cold against her skin. As soon as Ned snuggles down into the bag she cuddles up to him, scowling when the sleeping bag moves enough to let any cold air in.

He touches her cheek. "No... well, I think I'd better ask now, to avoid any awkwardness later, but... did you go to the doctor before we left town?"

"Yeah," she mumbles into his chest. "I'm fine. She said I'm... well, if we want to have sex, we can."

"Are you... are you back on the pill?"

"Yeah," she says, then pulls back to look at him. "And that worked so well the first time."

"Well, I've got a condom in my wallet... except that who knows where my wallet is."

She snuggles back into his shoulder. "So we'll be careful."

He runs his hand over her hair. "Do you want to?"

"Be careful, or have sex?" she says into his shirt.

"Either?"

"Both."

He barely moves, careful not to disturb the cocoon of warmth around them. He reaches down and slowly unfastens her jeans, unzips them, and slides his hand between her jeans and her panties.

She lets out a low groan, stifling herself against his shirt, and shoves her jeans down an inch to give him better access as she arches against his touch. His jeans are already strained by his arousal, and she unfastens them, touching him in return.

Ned moans, rolling onto her, then pulling back a little. "Too much?"

"I'm not glass," she tells him. "I'll tell you if I hurt, okay?"

"Promise?"

In answer she reaches up and draws his face down to hers. The warmth of his body against hers is relaxing muscles she hadn't even known were tensed. She was shivering all day long, and now their hips are aligned and his jeans are half-down and her shivers are for a different reason.

She had been ready to make the best of this marriage. She had even been a little excited, at the prospect of being a bride, his bride, no matter the circumstance. Then it had all fallen apart around her.

Experimentally she pushes her shirt up a few inches. "Hey," she whispers, breaking off the kiss, and leads his hand down to her belly. His hips tilt down against hers and she lets out a little groan, helping him push her shirt up. He unhooks her bra and pushes it up, and fondles one breast with gentle caresses while he suckles the other.

She lets out a cry, her hips grinding to rub the bulge of his erection faintly against her clit as she runs her hand through his hair. He licks her nipple, gently squeezing her other breast, and she grasps his hip, pulling him harder against her.

"I'm gonna rip your panties off if you don't stop that," he gasps into her breast.

"Wish I had another pair so you could," she says, hissing when he pulls back enough to move the bag. " _Fuck_ , it's so cold in here."

"Let me warm you up," he says, grasping her jeans at the hip and inching them down.

"How fair is this," she says, helping to wrestle them off. "I have to be practically naked and you just have to open your pants."

"It's called wearing a skirt," he says, a slight smirk on his face.

"I would have _literally_ frozen my ass off today, in a skirt."

"And what a hot little ass it is." Her panties go next, and then he's pushing his own underwear down. "Careful."

"Careful," she nods, her breasts even colder from the touch of his mouth, before he leans back down to her. As soon as his erection brushes between her thighs she arches hard, seeking contact, letting out a frustrated groan as he suckles against her other breast. She strokes his back, pressing against the base of his spine, circling her hips, and he closes his teeth gently against the sensitive tip of her breast and she gasps, shivering.

"Nan," he breathes, gently squeezing and caressing her breasts as he moves down, trailing light kisses down the line of her chest. He moves back up, the warm denim of his jeans against her legs, and lowers himself back to the valley between her thighs, where she is waiting for him.

She runs her fingers through his hair, and when he cups her hips, she willingly rolls on top of him. Immediately she's grinding against him, rubbing the slick heat of her inner lips up and down his shaft, and Ned's fingers dig into her ass, trying to force her down against him, into position so he can slide inside her. Her nipples drag against his chest and he fondles her breasts again. "God, I love you," he whispers, tilting up, and she kisses him, their tongues swirling hard together.

He snakes his hands between their bodies as she breaks the kiss, and he gently presses her sex open to him, and she hangs her head as the tip of his erection brushes against her clit. She repeats the movement again and again, her breath coming in harsh pants, and he arches against her, growing desperate.

"I need you."

She whimpers, nodding, reaching down to angle him. His sex is slick from contact with hers, and she pumps him in her fist, smiling as he shakes under her. She doesn't want to put too much space between them, doesn't want to let too much of the cold air into their bed, and it takes a while for her to find the right angle.

"Careful," he breathes, but then just the tip of him is inside her and her fingers are slick against his thigh and she shifts down and—

"Fuck," he groans, grasping her hips hard as she mounts him. They've had sex with condoms all of three times, and the sensation of him sheathed fully, nakedly between her legs makes them both shudder.

"I love you," she whimpers, her brow furrowing. "Ned, _oh_ —"

He touches her clit and she shivers, pushing her hips down against him in an even harder thrust, taking him deeper, and she's so, so slick and tight around him, and he's hot and hard inside her. "I love you," he replies, circling her clit, and she is almost rutting against him, her thrusts short and sharp. He circles her nipple the same way he's circling her clit and she lets out a desperate cry, stilling for a second before she rides him even faster.

"Careful—"

" _Fuck_ ," she whines in reply, her breath hot against his chest. "Please, _please_ —"

He's a couple seconds away from exploding, and he flips her over, his hips sinking to hers again. "Too deep?"

" _No,_ " she moans, her nails digging into his ass. "More, _more_ —"

"Honey, if you want me to pull out—"

She shakes her head hard. "No, _God,_ feels so good—"

He touches her clit, brushing it with the ball of his thumb, and she squeals, her cries high and desperate as her inner flesh clenches hard around him. He keeps touching her as he thrusts, again and again, deep inside her, and she jerks under him, meeting his thrusts, her face creased in pleasure that looks so much like pain.

He comes, buried inside her as she finishes, both of them panting, sealed tight together. Despite the chill of the room, they're flushed and trembling, his body sheltering hers.

They have barely recovered when he moves to kiss her, and she lazily runs her fingers through his hair, gasping when he moves out of her. Between her thighs is slick with them, and he buries his face against her shoulder, sighing.

"Ned."

"Mmm," he murmurs, nuzzling against her skin. He finds her lips again and she draws her fingertips down his spine, over flesh damp with sweat.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. "I'm sorry I was so... I just didn't know what to say."

"The truth is always good," he says mildly, and brushes a tendril of hair from her damp cheek. "I can hold this, Nan. I can hold us. As long as you love me, I can handle anything else you throw at me."

She smiles, her eyes gleaming again. "Me too."


End file.
